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Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Angst, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-27
Updated: 2019-07-27
Packaged: 2020-07-19 06:30:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19969555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Will had liked to think that he knew the meaning of home before Hannibal.





	Home

Will always wondered whether there was more to his psychiatrist than superficial charm and poise. Whether he was just another curated work of art to display in his little art gallery.

When they killed the Dragon, Dolarhyde’s blood spilled bright and crimson against the black cement-like magma over volcanic rock, shining in the full moon beautifully. He’d died a death worthy of a Dragon, yes, but it wasn’t Will’s design. They’d left him there, bare and exposed to the elements under the full moon, and, like exhausted flames, retreated into the warm den of Hannibal’s little house. The amber lights wrapped Will in a warm blanket. Shivering, Hannibal had kindled a fire, which they’d sat in front of until the sunburned bright over the horizon, shoulder-to-shoulder in silence. It was a new kind of intimacy they hadn’t explored.

Will had liked to think that he knew the meaning of home before Hannibal. Home had meant a variety of things to him before: pale browns, meadows and trees, solitude. But home gave itself a new meaning, beyond the easy chairs and fishing lures, around the time that they moved into their first house together. Whereas he once believed that he was inferior over the fine, polished aesthetic, the ornamental rugs, and twinkling chandeliers, Hannibal had taught him differently: had taught him a new definition of beauty.

Now, Will lays on his back on the beach basking in the new moon, as the wind rustles through his clothes and hair. Somber eyes stare up at the cloudless, twilight sky.

He should go inside, let Hannibal make him a cup of coffee, stop sending himself to these dark places down the beach where he is impossible to find. But inside is vacant walls and cacophonous echoes. The rooms are bare, duffel bags were strewn all about the floors, overflowing with old clothes, old bandages, and protein bar wrappers. Home is no longer the house on the cliff. Home is the disappointment of unmet expectations.

Feeling his mood darken, Will pushes himself up out of the sand, brushing it from his clothes. Their empty house by the sea was full of warmth and light, but it housed two depressed men with nothing to their name but dead bodies and betrayal. Looking back to the ocean, Will wishes he could be the waves for a day, simply cutting, slicing, and washing away ugly mistakes. He wonders if it would make any difference.


End file.
